


With Teeth

by Confused_screaming00



Category: Hannibal - Fandom, Hannibal - TV
Genre: Canon Typical Violence, Drunk Will Graham, Episode AU: s02e13 Mizumono, Eventual Character Death, Eventual Smut, Hannibal Lecter Loves Will Graham, Hannibal is Hannibal, I Will Go Down With This Ship, M night shyamalan can kiss my ass, M/M, Major Character Injury, Sassy Will Graham, Scotch was my co-writer, Suicidal Thoughts, Will Graham in Denial, Will is a Mess, alternate storyline
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-04
Updated: 2020-09-15
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:42:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26279632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Confused_screaming00/pseuds/Confused_screaming00
Summary: An AU to Mizumono. What if Will had taken Doctor Lecter up on his offer to disappear?Idk if anyone would be interested, but here’s a link to my playlist I listen to while writing.https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0EaGJFDwtM6R7rrdDWZ8sA?si=Q8fxyEvmRpacJWGPaQeQww
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 19
Kudos: 113





	1. Chapter 1

**1**

“We could disappear now. Tonight.”

The words bounced around Will's brain. With every step he made, every snap of his shoes on the sidewalk, the words echoed. His eyes blurred and blood sang in his ears. His stomach pinched and rolled with a feeling he refused to give a name. The world felt tilted on its side. By the time he had reached his car door and placed his shaking hand on the handle, he felt something like glass breaking in his chest; something small and warm spilling out, threatening to drown his heart. He shook but did not feel the cold.

Before he was aware of it, his feet had betrayed him. His hand reached up and he watched as it knocked with numb knuckles on the rich wood hard enough to break the skin. His hand knocked with ferocity and then pounded with an open palm on the dark surface, echoing with something more like desperation. He felt the door finally give, opened from the inside and he braced himself on the frame.

“Will?”

Hannibal stood framed in golden light from behind. It kissed the crown of his head and made him look as though he were touched by divinity. He stood perfectly poised, his own hand bracing the open door. His light brows rose in mild surprise or concern, his dark eyes searching Will’s stormy ocean ones.

“Will.” He repeated, not really a question this time, his accent curling around the name like a prayer. “Did you forget something?”

Will stood still bracing himself with both hands on the solid doorframe, his body leaning slightly forward. The blood rushing in his ears was so loud he could hardly hear Hannibal’s words. His heart beat wildly under his ribs as though the bird he had swallowed whole some nights ago was alive and frantically beating it’s wings there. His tongue pushed between his lips. He sucked the bottom one in and bit so hard he drew blood, coppery and sharp with adrenaline. He drew a ragged breath.

“Yeah. I did.” Will gritted out the words at the same time he stepped forward, bringing his hands to either side of Hannibal’s jaw, and crushing his own mouth against Hannibal’s.

Will felt Hannibal tighten with surprise or apprehension or (God, he hoped not) revulsion. Will was preparing to pull away and mumble some red faced, half hearted excuse. Preparing for the icy, if not familiar sting of rejection, the shameful fast-walk back to his car where he could die of shame in peace. But before he could, Hannibal’s hands plunged into his hair and Hannibal reciprocated his kiss in a bruising onslaught of sharp teeth and a slick tongue, pushing into Will’s mouth with a noise from his throat caught somewhere between a moan and a hum. The vibration went straight to Will’s gut and groin, pulsing with fire.

Will pushed Hannibal further into the foyer as he blindly slung a wild hand out to catch the door and slam it closed. He never broke their kiss as he used his body weight to slam Hannibal against the closest wall. Hannibal’s fingers dug, almost painful, into his skull as Will pressed into him, slotting them together from chest to hip. He could feel Hannibal’s interest jutting against the planes there, the heat of it burning like acid into the skin underneath.

He finally moved his mouth away from Hannibal’s to nip and kiss along his jaw, moving down to rest faintly on his neck. He could feel Hannibal’s pulse on his lips, smell the adrenaline and lust mingled there. Will wanted to claw inside Hannibal’s body and enfold himself in his scent. He wanted to break apart his rib cage and live inside him and feel safe. His breath came in gasps. Hannibal slid a hand through Will’s curls to cup his cheek.

“Will. This is... unexpected.” Hannibal’s voice was even and measured, but barely concealed some other thing Will did not recognize underneath. Will huffed laughter against his neck. Hannibal shut his eyes at the humid warmth across his skin. Abruptly, Will lifted his head. Hannibal slid his eyes open to peer at him through hooded lids. Will chewed his bottom lip, his eyes strikingly blue where the the light caught them through the shadowed foyer, but were clouded with uncertain lust and tinged with something akin to fear. A drop of blood in milk. Will shifted his weight onto his heels, his hands propped on the wall to either side of Hannibal’s ears. His belly felt flooded with cold, brackish water.

“I don’t... not sure why...” Will stuttered out the words, heat rising to his cheeks and his groin feeling uncomfortably tight. He dropped his gaze to Hannibal’s jaw and winced at the scrapes his teeth had left there. He could feel Hannibal gently scraping his nails against the scruff of his cheek as his hand slid down to rest on the crook of flesh where Will’s shoulder met his neck. Will dropped his eyes further to Hannibal’s throat, to the knot of the tie gathered there. He ached to pull it apart, rip his shirt and vest away until the buttons skittered away on the floor, to make Hannibal as undone as he felt.

“I lied.” Will breathed the words out, his head tipping down, body arching away, his curls almost brushing against Hannibal’s chest. He felt a heavy surge of emotion gathering in the back of his throat and his voice cracked when he next spoke. “I lied, Hannibal. I never... “ His body thrummed and shook with tears he refused to let fall. He felt like his chest would burst open with the effort. He drew a breath that came out like a sob. One he started again the confession poured out of him like a flood. “I never killed Freddie. I lied. It was lies, I _lied._ Jack. Me. We were trying to trap you, Hannibal, _I_ was a trap. All of this. He knows, he _knows I killed Randall Tier, he knows_. I can’t, I don’t...” The tears came anyway. They fell fast and hot, burning their trail down Will’s face. His forehead was pressed to Hannibal’s chest, his hands like claws in Hannibal’s shoulders. His own shoulders shook with sobs, desperate and choking.

“Hannibal, I wanted... I did. But I can’t, I don’t want it now, I—“ Will was cut short by hands that had been winding back into the hair at his nape, that tightened there and wrenched his head back so fast that pain brought fresh tears with a strangled yelp burning his throat. His body arched painfully, pulled rigid by force. Hannibal’s maroon eyes were sharp and electric as they bored into Will’s. His adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed tightly. _This is it._ Will thought mildly. _He will choke the life from me right here and finally be done with it._ He focused on Hannibal’s mouth, his blood smeared there from his bitten lip. Hannibal swiped his tongue across the crimson stain, his nostrils flaring and the color of his eyes seemed to deepen. Will felt the tears gathering in the hollow where his throat met his chest, sweat mixed there from lust, the smell quickly sharpening with fear. He sighed as Hannibal leaned forward, pressing their bodies close again, brushing his lips close to Will’s ear. He closed his eyes with a small smile when he felt a hand encircling his throat. He shuddered at Hannibal’s breath with the two words he spoke against the shell of his ear:

“I know.”

Fresh tears slid quietly from beneath Will’s lids. His body slackened with defeat and something else, his arms falling limply at his sides. He felt lighter than he had in years, his confession and Hannibal’s pulling some heavy weight from off his chest. So he waited, feeling like time itself had crawled to a halt, he waited for death


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well... I got busy writing so here is the next chapter. Updates will probably be sporadic because I work full time and I am a *tad* unreliable tbh. Enjoy!

Hannibal reared his head back slightly, his nose brushing against the other man’s. Fingers on both his hands flexed, one hand pulling Will’s hair even tighter in his grasp and the other applying bruising pressure across Will’s windpipe. He could feel the wild pulse there, the shallow swallows. With a deftness that made Will’s eyes snap open and his breath come in a sharp gasp Hannibal whirled their bodies around, Will’s skull bouncing dully on the wall. Hannibal bared down, shifting his entire left forearm across Will’s throat and pressed up, lifting Will’s feet off the ground with the force. Will’s eyes were wide but calm, glazed over with acceptance and still eerily blue in the light.

Will’s mouth worked with words too strangled for air to make a sound. Hannibal’s gaze was blazing and steady as he watched Will’s lips struggle, turning a bruising color of purple red, the veins in his temples thudding visibly with slowing blood. Will’s eyes stayed almost translucent blue that shimmered with tears, sclera reddening with broken vessels. His lips kept moving soundlessly. After several, slick seconds Hannibal could finally make out the words:

_I forgive you, I forgive you, I forgive yo—_

As the black shadows in his vision started to close in and grey out, as his body began to feel like it was rising above and beyond the walls and ceiling of the world, Will felt the crushing force across his throat fall away and his breath rushed into his lungs with shuddering gulps. His body went lax, held in place by strong hands against the wall. His eyes rolled and he blinked against the suddenly too harsh light. He wheezed another breath, his own hands scrabbling up around his throat and feeling the already bruising mark there across the flesh beneath his jaw.

Will leaned his weight back against the wall and found his feet. His breath was tight and loud, but steady. His head thundered with pain from being denied air for so long and his tongue felt like a swollen, foreign thing in his mouth. He set his bleary gaze upon Hannibal. He stood quietly before Will at arm’s length, his face blank but an unknown emotion glinted somewhere behind his eyes. Will reached a shaky hand out and clasped Hannibal’s shoulder.

“I... I’m s-sorry. I’m sorry I lied. I—“

Will’s apology was again cut short with Hannibal’s hands. He couldn’t help but flinch at the touch, expecting more brutality. But Hannibal cupped Will’s jaw and cheeks in either hand, his thumbs rubbing reverently across Will’s cheekbones. Hannibal brushed their noses together.

“Will. Dear Will. You are exactly what I hoped for.” Hannibal’s voice was low, his accent thick and the words caressed Will’s ears. His breath caught in his throat as Hannibal pressed their mouths together and his lips were teased open by Hannibal’s tongue. Will felt like he was dying again. Hannibal’s mouth was too warm, too delicious, too perfect. His eyes rolled back and shut, a low moan pulled from his gut. Hannibal pushed their bodies together with gentle pressure and deepened his kiss.

Will suddenly felt a hunger deeper and more feral than anything he had ever known. He pushed his hips roughly against the older man’s, moaning hoarsely into Hannibal’s mouth, and unable to quell the embarrassing whine that followed. His breath was loud and rough through his nose. He needed more, rougher contact. He wanted Hannibal to tear him apart, to absolve him of his sins, to put a violent end to his suffering. He needed Hannibal to destroy him and consume him, to—

Something rose up inside Will and he broke away from Hannibal, suddenly violently pushing against him, forcing him to stumble several steps back.

“God dammit, Hannibal! What are we doing? What have you done to me?” Will’s voice was gritty and harsh from strangulation but no less venomous. “I can’t do this. I can’t live like this. I cannot be... whatever the hell this is.” Will huffed and ran trembling fingers through his hair. He pressed the palm of his right hand over his mouth and shut his eyes, screwing them shut against the torrent of emotions threatening to tear him in two. Hannibal’s chuckle brought them flying back open.

Will looked at Hannibal. He was standing several paces away, his mouth quirked with amusement as he carefully removed his waistcoat. Will watched graceful fingers unbutton the cuffs of his dress shirt and languidly fold them up to reveal attractively muscled forearms. Will felt a pulse in his groin and he groaned, looking away, thoroughly disgusted with himself. Hannibal observed this with an arched brow and smug expression.

“Will. I believe you were the one to come knocking down my door.” Hannibal’s smile broadened with the words, his fingers working apart his tie and tucking it neatly into his trouser pocket. He finally stood still, looking predatory and softened, somehow all at once. Will still stood against the wall with his hand clamped tightly over his mouth like a shield. He felt like he needed a way to protect himself from Hannibal’s mouth or it would devour him whole. Hannibal spoke again as he slowly, cautiously closed the space between them, regarding Will as if he were a cornered monster and not the other way around.

“I know, Will. I knew when I could smell her on you. Ms. Lounds. You reeked of her perfume and of her life. I knew if she was living, you and Uncle Jack had something in mind. You wanted to surprise me.” Hannibal was so close to Will once again that their noses almost touched. His voice was quiet and gentle, almost a whisper. He boxed Will in with his arms, mimicking Will’s posture minutes before, with each hand planted smooth against the wall on either side of Will’s head. His breath ghosted over the hand Will still had over his mouth.

“You were very convincing, Will. Your seduction was beautiful and, I will admit, at first so very tempting. Your display of Randall, the offering you gave me. A beautiful web.” Hannibal paused long enough to plant a chaste kiss on the bruised knuckles of Will’s right hand. He peered at the darkened skin on the hand Will had used to knock on his door so desperately. “Tell me, Will. Was your rash display of affection another strand of silk meant to tangle around me? Is this confession another one of Uncle Jack’s sly snares?” He let his mouth rest lightly on Will’s hand, just the other side of where Will’s mouth lay concealed, his breath hot and humid on Will’s skin. His eyes were sparks of electricity, his pupils rapidly expanding and contracting as he scanned Will’s face. Hannibal leaned minutely forward, tipping his forehead against Will’s. His breath was faintly minty and coppery as he spoke.

“Are you still deceiving me, dear Will? I let you see me. All of me. I gave you a rare gift. You do not want it?” He traced his nose up Will’s forehead and into his hair before nuzzling into the secret flesh behind his ear. Will shuddered at the feel of Hannibal’s clean shaven cheek against his stubble. He finally released his hand from his mouth and dreamily wound his fingers into the hair at the crown of Hannibal’s head. His other hand laid still against Hannibal’s chest, sandwiched between their bodies. He could feel the strong heart beat there, as steady as his was wild. Will’s head still thumped with pain and his eyes felt like sandpaper. But he felt it all in a removed way, only the heat and press of Hannibal’s body felt real. He wanted to die right here in this room, pressed against this man. He wanted to slip quietly into the stream with Hannibal and let everything else fall away. Will wanted to feel the cold water and the mud rush in and fill all the too hot spaces made in his body by him. He needed to wash away all the blood. Hannibal’s voice floated to him and he heard it as if he were already underwater.

“Stay with me, Will. Stay with me.”

Will’s eyelids fluttered closed. His heart felt icy and sludge ran through his veins as he heard his own voice, an answer bubbling up out of his mouth.

“Tonight. Let’s disappear.”

Hannibal’s heart thumped harder and quicker beneath Will’s hand. His eyes opened at the sensation and stared fixedly ahead. Hannibal pulled back his face to peer into Will’s. His eyes were blurred with tears. A foreign thing radiated there in the maroon depths Will had never seen, and it terrified him. Hannibal smiled softly as he slotted his mouth against Will’s.

Will felt like he was drowning.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here’s s’more. I have no idea how I’m managing to get any sleep but good for you guys right??
> 
> A tiny bit of smut ahead. But just a tiny bit. We’ll have a lot of smut later, so you can have a little now, as a treat.
> 
> Ps For some reason my italics are NOT cooperating, so asterisks it is. Idk. Maybe it’ll play nice later.
> 
> Oh, PPS I am tired and I hope 99% of this makes sense. If it’s terrible I am sorry.

Will sat with his head against the cool glass of the window in Hannibal’s Bentley and watched the world pass by. His brain felt too wrung and pulled too thin. He slid his tongue over his lips and winced at the sensation. His mouth was raw and swollen from the assault of Hannibal’s teeth and lips. Will had never been kissed so... thoroughly in his life. He had never had another person’s touch kindle such a blaze inside his belly, never had been made to feel like he was something to be worshipped. But he felt that way now, and he knew that was what he saw in Hannibal’s eyes that had made his blood run cold: worship. 

Will knew how dangerous a thing like that from a man like Hannibal could be. How cities could burn and bodies could pile up. How not one thing, or one person, would come between them as long as Hannibal drew breath. And perhaps not even after. Will could see things with searing clarity now. He could see all the nights of therapy sessions, days spent at crime scenes shoulder to shoulder. Now he could look back at them and see the way Hannibal’s eyes lingered on his mouth, the way he always found a reason to touch Will or close the space between. How his eyes gleamed with something Will thought he couldn’t place, but it was just that he wouldn’t let himself believe it could possibly for him. The realization just kept washing over him, his body wracked with the heavy heat of it. 

Hannibal worshipped him. 

Will could feel it an hour ago in hands that had moved in his hair and skimmed his cheekbones. He could feel it in the way their kiss had slowly  
deepened and in the gentle way Hannibal had caressed the bruised skin of his neck, feeling the mark he had left there. His fingers felt like an apology. 

Even as they rode in silence Will felt smothered by Hannibal’s devotion. He had allowed himself to be led and corralled by Hannibal into the car, his brain unable to process the words the other man had spoke, but he had understood. He understood why they hurtled towards Wolf Trap to collect Will’s few belongings worth taking and leave a well placed note for Alana and Jack. Will wasn’t sure where they would go beyond that, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. His nerves were far too frayed to muster the strength. His brain felt burnt and inflamed. He felt like he was in a fever dream. The stars blinked in and out beneath branches. Light rain collected on the glass, distorting their shapes and streaking the sky. Hannibal’s voice called to him from somewhere far away. 

“Will?”

Will shuddered and pulled his head upright. Blinking hard through the dim light he recognized his home around him, realized he was standing in his kitchen with his dogs snuffling excitedly at his hands and shoes. He watched Hannibal move here and there with mild interest, his mouth moving but no sound came to Will’s ears. He felt the dull thump of something like intoxication or excitement in his stomach and it made him queasy. He shut his eyes for a moment, breathing in deeply the scent of wet dogs and stale smoke from his fireplace, and reopened them slowly. The world around him had changed again, making his stomach lurch uncomfortably and his sweat run cold. A floor he did not recognize was under his feet, an unfamiliar room filling in around him. His eyes darted to the tall glass windows, a piano. His eyes adjusted slowly, the room was dim and still. 

Will felt removed. He observed his surroundings with the nagging feeling of being at a crime scene. Fire kissed his mind and chills swept over his skin in a way that felt familiar and dangerous. His eyes slid closed but no pendulum swung. Only the quiet static of thoughts that swam too fast to grasp. He needed a better lure. 

Will started at the light pressure of a hand on his shoulder. He stumbled back a step as though he’d been pulled. He shook his head and rolled his bloodshot eyes around to meet Hannibal’s. The dark eyes peered at his with no expression, as cold and flat as a painting. Will mildly wondered how much force it would take to pull them from the sockets with his fingers. 

“We will only be here until daybreak. You are welcome to shower before we leave. I have some final matters to attend to ensure our departure is uneventful.” Hannibal’s voice was cordial as always but almost too careful as he spoke, as though he was calming a skittish horse. The thought made Will smile. His voice was a strangled whisper in his reply. 

“I’m not going to shatter, Doctor. I don’t feel like fine china anymore.” Something softened in Hannibal’s face. His hand on Will’s shoulder tightened minutely. 

“How do you feel, Will?” The question was simple enough. But nothing that passed through the steel trap of Hannibal Lecter’s mind was ever face value. He considered his answer carefully as he turned his gaze away. The muted sound of the ocean outside washed over his ears, mingled with the voice of some foreign aria floating from the depths of the house. His smile widened but never reached his eyes. 

“I feel like the edge of a knife.”

Hannibal tilted his head against Will’s temple. Will suddenly felt paralyzed by the delicious, warm smell that clung to Hannibal’s skin. Cedar and bergamot, but something sinister underneath. *Leather*. His head buzzed, his skin felt too tight. Something passed between them but Will refused to name it. “My mind feels like it’s unraveling. It feels like it is being ground away. The more I give to you, the sharper I become.” *And the more I die* Will’s mind taunted. Hannibal gave him a searching look before pulling away. He stood, smoothing non existent wrinkles from his crisp white dress shirt, his face placidly calm, eyes shuttered and blank once again. *His mask* Will mused. 

“The shower is through the guest room, last door on the right of the hall. You will find appropriate clothing in the closet there as well. We will leave in five hours time, I think.” Hannibal gestured elegantly toward the hall to Will’s right, where the music drifted from. Will gave a curt nod and turned without a word, his feet leading but his thoughts muddled with the scent of Hannibal’s aftershave. 

Will walked calmly to the indicated door. His expression remained neutral as he turned the knob. Once his feet had passed over the threshold and he pressed the door closed softly, once his fingers numbly turned the tab of the lock and he heard the soft click, Will finally gave into the adrenaline savaging his body. He stumbled and and fell hard on his hands and knees, his breath coming too fast, too short. He clawed at the hardwood beneath him. His body sunk over his knees, his forehead kissing the cold floor. He sobbed through gasped breaths. 

His heart felt too big and too heavy against his ribs. He desperately wished Hannibal had just let him strangle to death in his foyer. His skull ached. It felt cracked open and picked clean. His guts felt torn and jagged in his heaving belly. What had he done? He didn’t want to go, he didn’t want to pull his life apart. He would never be free again. Hannibal held what was left of their lives in his hands. Will felt like he had sold his soul to the devil. He shuddered to think what payment he’d receive. 

*You came back to his doorstep. You walked back into the jaws of the beast, a willing sacrifice,* a voice in his mind hissed to him. Memories of Hannibal’s mouth on his, strong hands in his hair, the slick heat of their tongues slipping against one another made Will groan miserably into the wood. His breathing finally came easier and his shoulders hunched in defeat. He sat up and pressed his back against the locked door, thankful for the space between himself and Hannibal. He sat, dejectedly picking at his nails and finally glanced around the room. His breath caught painfully in his throat. 

The room was beautiful. The walls were an earthy green-gray. The bed was low and simple with an iron frame, the nightstand and dresser of natural wood almost utilitarian in their appearance. Crisp white sheets and a deep gray blanket dressed the bed. An oversized and worn leather chair sat in the far corner by the window, a full bookcase snugly fit beneath the sill. Two simple nature prints hung framed on the wall above the bed. Not one thing in the room looked like something that would belong to Hannibal Lecter. 

Will stood on shaky legs, bracing himself against the door. He stared in disbelief for several minutes at the space that was obviously meant for him. He scrubbed a hand across his face and a nervous bark of laughter burned his throat. Shaking his head he crossed the room to the door that must have been the bathroom. He flicked the lights on to the simple white tiled room. He shut and locked the door behind him, still eager to increase the space between the other man. He undressed quickly, avoiding the mirror. The shower was large, walled in on three sides with glass and much more Hannibal’s taste. 

Will stood for a long moment under the nearly scalding water and let his mind go blissfully blank. He washed with shampoo and soap he wasn’t surprised to find already lined up in the cubby of the tiled wall. It all smelled mild and clean and Will was certain it cost more than the combined amount he’d spent on such things in his entire life. 

As his body relaxed under the heat and he felt safely enveloped in the steam, his mind circled back to the way Hannibal’s mouth had felt on his; how delicious and perfect he felt, and how their bodies fit together like they were made for each other. Will’s groin felt heavy at the thought and he pressed a guilty palm into himself to relieve the pressure. Heat even hotter than the water coiled in his belly and crept up his chest. He tried in vain to push the thought away, but curled his fingers around his half hard cock instead. His other hand reached up around his throat and pressed hard into the bruise Hannibal’s forearm had left. Will gasped out loud at the pain and his cock throbbed painfully in his grasp. He jerked himself harshly as he squeezed his throat, his low moans strangled by his own hand. His blood roared in his ears and his knees buckled as his orgasm ripped through him. Tears mixed with the shower spray on his face as he came, embarrassingly fast, cum spattering his feet. 

Light headed and reeling, he slid down with his back against the tile and struggled to catch his breath. The heat in his belly had dissipated but his cheeks burned hotly with shame. He stood after a few moments, rinsing his feet and the floor of the shower as he berated himself for acting like a horny teenager. He opened the shower door and grabbed the towel that conveniently hung on a hook nearby, roughly drying his body. He wrapped the towel around his waist and finally moved to stand in front of the foggy mirror. He reached out and wiped a clear spot with his hand and gave a strangled yelp at his reflection. 

His eyes were swollen, puffy and bloodshot from tears and from being strangled. The white of his left eye was marred by a busted blood vessel and the hollows beneath were purpled with petechiae. His throat was swollen, a dark black bruise running across neatly from ear to ear. Smaller, reddening marks from his own fingertips were scattered around the mark that Hannibal had left behind. Will’s mouth curled in a tight smile as he eyed the bruises from both of them overlapping on his skin. Violence was their best language. 

He dropped his eyes and took inventory of the tidy bottles and objects arranged on the counter, no doubt all carefully chosen. Toothpaste, deodorant, shaving cream, aftershave. A sleek looking razor resting on a hand towel. He debated silently for a moment, finally shrugging and taking the shaving cream in hand. 

When he finally stepped out of the bathroom Will felt like he left most of himself behind in the steam. His skin was pink and clean, smooth cheeks still burning from the aftershave. It’s smell reminded him vaguely of long gone summer days spent skulking around Louisiana boatyards while he waited for his father. He knew in his bones it was chosen purposefully, or perhaps even handcrafted especially for him by Hannibal. The knowledge made him queasy and giddy at the same time. He swung open the closet doors and his stomach dropped. Stumbling back, he sat heavily on the edge of the bed. 

The right half of the closet was a simple rack, where neatly pressed shirts and slacks hung in pairs. The shirts were all the colors that best brought out Will’s eyes. Snatches of earthy greens, mild blues, and even a sleeve of red flannel poked out amongst them. The slacks were all black or dark gray, a few khaki tan. Simple leather shoes and a pair of boots were lined up underneath. A dark woolen pea coat hung to one side of all the clothing, appearing both warm and expensive. The left side of the closet did not hold clothes. The left side made Will’s breath quicken and the blood thrum loudly in his ears. Hannibal’s worship was deeper than he could have imagined. 

Several fishing rods leaned against the wall of the closet. A small stand with drawers sat to one side, a tackle box resting on top. Will knew without looking that in those drawers he’d find reels and supplies for making lures. He couldn’t breathe. He felt choked and claustrophobic. Everywhere he looked he was surrounded by Hannibal, the unrelenting pressure of his influence and his obsession. 

Will wanted to scream. He wanted to pull his hair out. He wanted to choke Hannibal’s breath from his body with his bare hands and his mouth. He wanted to tear Hannibal apart, to leave marks inside his body and on his bones. In only a few hours time since he had sold his soul, Will could feel his own life being ripped away by Hannibal and refitted, remade to fit within his. Maybe though *he* had started the process when he displayed Randall Tier’s body. Or when he saw the hopeful shine of Hannibal’s eyes when he suggested that they just leave that night and something broke inside him. Or perhaps it all began that morning Hannibal had shown up at his hotel room with breakfast, all charming elegance and politeness. Will wasn’t sure how or when exactly that they had begun to blur. He wasn’t sure when his dreams began to burn with a heat that was not encephalitic, but that still left him drenched and dazed in the mornings, the showers that followed not unlike the one he took a half hour ago. 

Will swallowed the blaze of emotion in his throat and stood with fresh determination. He stalked to the dresser and yanked open the top drawer where, to no surprise, he found underwear and socks. He pulled them on, refusing to think about the reasoning behind Hannibal’s selection. He returned to the open closet, his eyes avoiding the rods. He selected black slacks and shirt, matching dress shoes, and after digging in more drawers, a supple black leather belt. He noticed a full length mirror mounted to the wall across from the bed and stood before it, taking himself in. 

Will laughed out loud at the gaunt figure reflected back, all in black and bruised like a corpse. He looked like a dead man. It was fitting. His grin grew teeth as he stared. 

He might as well dress the part for the funeral of his former life. 

Will felt that he’d stalled as long as he could. He took a deep breath as his hand rested in the door handle. He half expected to find Hannibal poised on the other side, lying in wait. But the hall was dark and empty. The music had ceased at some point and he couldn’t hear any other sound or movement. His heart was suddenly hammering in his chest. Maybe Hannibal had gone without him, abandoning him here, cutting him loose like dead weight. Maybe he had decided he couldn’t trust Will after all. 

Will strode quickly down the hall to the main part of the house, panic rising thickly in his throat. A few lamps glowed with soft light, but the room was otherwise dark and deafeningly silent. Will stood, eyes scanning the kitchen, the sofa and armchairs, the empty piano stool. No sign that anyone was near; no book laid open, no wine glass left to languish, no rumpled throws. 

Will stood still in the middle of the empty room, unsure of what to do. Should he just call a cab and return to Wolf Trap? He could burn the note left in his home, call Jack and... Will slumped on the sofa and leaned his head on the low back, his expression despondent, watery eyes fixed on the smooth ceiling. He couldn’t go back. He couldn’t go back to Jack Crawford and Alana and the BAU. Everything had changed when he’d pressed his mouth against Hannibal’s. There wasn’t any going back. 

He shut his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, a shaky sigh leaving his mouth. He’d fucked up. If Hannibal -the only other human that could see the darkness of his mind and not shy away, not treat him like a deranged mental patient, or a timid, broken thing- didn’t want him, where the hell was he suppose to be. 

“What the fuck am I going to do?” Will flung his hand away, his voice echoing with hollow laughter as he spoke aloud to the silent room around him. He would call a cab, he decided. He’d go home, drink all the whiskey he had, and load a single bullet into his handgun. He’d put an end to his own suffering. It was his life, his decision. He always had an out. 

He stood, resolute in his plan, eyes searching for a phone. He found a land line on the counter in the kitchen and as his hand closed around it and his fingers came up to dial a number, the sound of a key in the front door stopped him cold. Will turned slowly to face the living room, phone still in hand. He heard the door open, heard the lilt of Hannibal’s accent as he spoke to someone. He heard a soft voice reply, too low for him to make out. And then he heard the laughter. The phone slid from his hand and clattered to the hard floor. 

Will knew he heard the laughter of Abigail Hobbs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More is coming. I’m thinking this will probably be at least 20/30 chapter deal. So buckle up, buttercups! Things are going to get bleak. And smutty. And bleaker.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Friday! My italics are still dumb, so more asterisks. Just pretend all the words in asterisks are slanty. Anyway, have a chapter!

Abigail followed Hannibal through the door, unfastening her coat, chatting with him like old friends. She turned her head toward the kitchen as she laughed again, her smile faltering as her eyes met Will’s.

Will gripped the surface of the kitchen island in front of him, his vision graying around the edges. It felt like all the air had been sucked out of the room.

“Abigail? I thought... I thought h-he, I mean, I-I saw... you’re dead,” he fought to speak, blurting out the last two words. He could feel bile rising in his throat with the memory of her ear in his sink. Abigail looked to Hannibal momentarily before walking slowly through the living room and into the kitchen. She stood at arm’s length away from Will, her smile gentle and tears welling in her eyes.

“I’m here, Will. We’re all here. Finally.” Her voice started steady but broke on the last word, and that broke Will. He dragged Abigail into a tight hug with a sob. Crushing her against his chest, the cold clinging to her body from outside chilling him, he wept. Joy and grief and all the anguish that he had kept bottled up since he had stood trial for her murder poured out of him in stuttered words. He wanted to tell her everything was fine now, that he was going to be just fine because now that he knew she was alive his existence felt a little less unbearable. But nothing he said to her made much sense.

Abigail hugged him back ferociously, her hands digging into his shoulder blades. After several minutes, Will finally pulled back to look at her. Her smile was radiant, her pretty, straight teeth just visible. But her eyes. Her eyes unsettled him. They were clear and bright, a little sad, shining with tears. But the longer Will looked at them, the more he felt like he was looking into Hannibal’s eyes instead.

He gently shook his head, trying to quell the feeling. Abigail shifted slightly and he immediately released her, realizing how hard his fingers were digging into her arms. He blinked hard. He was scared if he kept his eyes closed too long she would disappear.

“Shit! Sorry. I... I just can’t believe you’re actually here. Alive, I mean.” Will shuffled his feet, laying a hand on the cool marble of the kitchen island. “I, uh, I coughed up your ear.” He looked down as he said it, his gaze lingering for a quick second on the hair hanging free around her face. “I’m sorry,” he added in a small voice. He traced a finger along a dark vein in the stone. Abigail grabbed his hand and pulled it away from the counter, clasping in gently in both of hers.

“Will, don’t.” Will glanced up at her carefully. Her head tipped to the side, her eyes fixed on his hand in hers. Her brows rose gently as she continued. “What had to happen, happened.” Her words were measured, careful. Will felt anger flare hotly in his chest. He jerked his hand from hers and turned toward the island to face Hannibal, who stood near the piano in the living room, his hands clasped behind his back. Bitter heat swept through Will’s expression.

“Did you tell her that? That it _had_ to happen?” The words were a low growl, his voice still rough from earlier in the night. He pushed past Abigail and stalked toward Hannibal. His vision was sharp, his hands balled into fists that shook with the force of the rage running wild through him. His nails dug into his palms so hard they drew blood. Will couldn’t feel it. He felt thunder in his chest. He felt dangerous.

“Did. You. Fucking. Tell. Her. That.” He spit out the words, his face inches from Hannibal’s. Hannibal remained perfectly still. Only his eyes moved to observe Will’s advance, to focus on the blue eyes that darkened with feral anger. Will’s chest heaved with his breaths. His whole body shook. He felt like his stomach had turned inside out, like acid was pouring out and eating his insides. He watched Hannibal blink slowly before he replied.

“Yes, Will, I did. But I-“

Will didn’t let him finish. He punched Hannibal as hard as he could square on the jaw. Hannibal stumbled back almost comically, his hip careening sharply, loudly into the piano.

“Fuck!” Will gasped the word out, shaking his hand at the searing pain. He turned away from Hannibal, cradling his battered right hand in the left. He examined the busted and bleeding knuckles. His hand was already swelling, likely broken.

“Will?”

His head jerked up at the sound of Abigail’s voice. She was walking toward him slowly, her expression startling blank. She stood on the other side of the sofa, her hands resting lightly on the back. “I just did what he said. I didn’t know what else to do. He told me it would bring you back to us. That we could all be a family.” One corner of her mouth was curved in a lopsided smile as she shrugged. “He said we would wait for you. He promised... he promised he wouldn’t leave without you.” Her eyes shifted to Hannibal as she explained, her gaze softening. Bile rose in Will’s throat.

Will knew he and Abigail had been manipulated by Hannibal. Just not quite to this extent. It had all just been a game; framing him, nurturing his darkness— and Abigail’s. Hannibal just wanted to have Will all to himself. Will laughed. He laughed until he felt on the verge of madness. He laughed as tears spilled down his face and he couldn’t catch his breath. He plopped down on the sofa as his laughter tapered out, sighing almost contentedly. He stretched his arms out to either side, resting them along the back of the sofa and leaned back against it. Licking his lips he crossed an ankle over his knee. He gazed at Hannibal with a smirk and an arched brow.

“Bravo, Doctor. I fell for it hook, line, and sinker. We both did. I wanted to surprise you. But you surprised me.” He huffed more laughter and flashed a toothy grin. “We’re here now, Doctor Lecter. You’re _family_.” He bared his teeth as he said the word, his eyes dark and burning. “What are you going to do with us now?”

Hannibal regarded him from his seat on the piano bench with a stoic expression. His hand still grasped his jaw where Will’s fist had connected but he showed no discomfort otherwise. God, Will wanted to cave his stupid, aloof face in.

“I had hoped we could live here, in this home, at one time. The three of us. I had visions of the teacup coming together for us here. Abigail has been here for some time, simply waiting for a night like this to come to pass. I want you with me. I’m sure you noticed the room I had prepared for your arrival —“

Will snorted in disgust. The words he spoke were pure venom. “Oh fuck you Hannibal. I don’t want to talk about that— that fucking _shrine_ you built.” He stood abruptly, wildly gesturing toward the hall as he took several paces toward the windows. He stood with his hands shoved in his pockets for several tense moments and surveyed the inky sky outside. His broken hand screamed in protest but Will didn’t mind. The pain kept him focused.

Hannibal rose quietly. He moved nearer to Will and stood just behind and to the side of his right shoulder, joining him in his observation. Will could feel his presence on the side of his body like a flame. His skin prickled, his pulse quickened, and he hated himself.

“You are not a prisoner, Will. You are free to go, to do as you wish; you are not a hunted man.” Will closed his eyes and let Hannibal’s words wash over him. Even his voice felt like a pressure, like something tangible that coiled around Will’s heart, slid around in his guts, whispered in his ear. He could almost hear the unspoken things in Hannibal’s words, in the tone. _I won’t keep you from leaving. I will let you go. Only go with me if you want to_. He could taste the tang of fear. Hannibal was actually afraid that Will would go. That he would walk away after all. The anger left him as quickly as it had flared.

“Aren’t I? There’s no going back now. Even if I could, what would be the point?” He sighed with a resigned shrug. “I’ve made my choice, Hannibal. I know who I am when I’m with you. I know who you are.” He offered a small smile to Hannibal as he turned his head to look at him. Hannibal’s jaw was already darkening with a bruise from his fist. His expression was guarded as he watched the world beyond the window. He clasped his hands behind his back and exhaled deeply. Light from a nearby lamp made his features sharp. Will eyed his cheekbones and the curve of his lips hungrily, heat spreading in his chest. He couldn’t decide whether he wanted to punch him or kiss him. Hannibal’s eyes caught his and the heat rose in his face.

“I am here. With you, Hannibal. There is no conceivable lie I could tell Jack or the FBI that would explain how you got away. He would pursue you to the ends of the world, and he would want me to chase you with him. I can’t. I can’t be his bloodhound anymore.” The heat in his face burned a deeper shade. The gravity of his next words made his voice small, his eyes dropping to focus on the buttons of Hannibal’s shirt. “Everything is different now. *I* feel differently.”

The air felt different between them after his words, charged somehow, like the air before a lightning strike.

“Do you, Will? Are things so different now than they were when you were conspiring with Jack Crawford to ensnare me? To take my freedom from me, perhaps my life?” Will’s eyes snapped up to Hannibal’s. Something like fear glittered there, just visible. Something desperate and sharp.

“Never your life.” Will searched Hannibal’s face for a modicum of understanding. His expression was again blank, his mask flawless as always. “Look,” he sighed with exasperation. “I don’t want to see you put to death. I don’t want to see you put in a cage. Not... anymore.” Hannibal raised a brow as Will spoke. His eyes flitted over Will’s face, pausing on his mouth. Hannibal smiled. Just a slight quirk of his lips, but the slip in his mask was enough to make Will’s stomach flip. He looked away, back to the window.

 _It’s not love_. Will promised himself. He closed his eyes, felt like he was praying. _Whatever the hell this is, it’s not that. Please_.The sky was beginning to lighten.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had a busy weekend! I was stuck on this chapter but inspiration struck in the wee hours of Sunday morning. Enjoy 😊
> 
> (Also, I don’t think show Will was ever really portrayed as a drinker. But book Will was *definitely* very fond of whiskey.)

Will watched Hannibal and Abigail disappear through the motel office door through the dusty windshield. Sweat plastered his hair to his forehead, made his clothes stick uncomfortably. It was warm and humid in Alabama, even with Halloween fast approaching. They had made the near 900 mile drive over the last three days. The time it took to swap cars and plates a few times had slowed their journey considerably, not to mention the extra time on back roads to avoid police. That last two nights had been rough, sleeping fitfully in whatever car they had at the time in shifts, one keeping watch for law enforcement. Abigail had remained in the back seat most of the trip and chatted cheerfully to Will as he drove, as long as Hannibal slept. The atmosphere was different when Hannibal was awake; the space felt too small to contain him and allow room for anyone else. Abigail and Will were quiet then, only speaking to answer Hannibal’s polite questions about if they were hungry or when the next turn was close. 

Will had not asked where they were headed. His mood in the beginning had been apathetic. He had felt numb and heavy, uncaring but civil enough. Now he was absolutely mutinous. He was tired of sleeping without stretching out and had all but demanded Hannibal find somewhere with a bed and a liquor store. He needed a drink. Driving be damned. 

He took a swig from the nearly empty scotch bottle he’d kept nestled between his feet. It burned going down. It was cheap. Hannibal had rolled his eyes when peeking into the large paper sacks Will had returned to the car with several towns ago. He had opened his mouth to undoubtedly say something snarky but snapped it shut again at the glare Will had given him. Will had felt like celebrating the small victory. By the time they found the little motel he was already extraordinarily drunk and rather pleased with himself. 

Not aware he had dozed off, the opening of the driver’s side door made him jump, scotch sloshing onto his knee from the slanted bottle in his hand. “Oh. Shit.” He glanced up at Hannibal with a sloppy grin. “Sorry ‘bout that. Heat makes me sleepy.” His words slipped together with a drunken drawl. More scotch spilled from the bottle as he gestured loosely around the car with it. Hannibal pursed his lips as he watched Will struggle to sit upright and cap the bottle. 

“They only had a single vacancy. They are under the impression that Abigail is my niece and that you are her father.”

Will blinked slowly several times before he snorted with laughter. “I don’t look like your brother.” He opened his door and tried to stand. Hannibal sighed heavily before crouching in the driver’s seat, reaching across the console to unbuckle Will’s seatbelt. 

“No, Will, you do not. Which is why I indicated that you are my fictional sister’s husband.” His voice was sharp with irritation as he explained. His hair, not as neat as usual from days and nights on the road, hung over his eyes as he leaned close to Will— who reached up and swept it back. Hannibal’s fingers froze in their fumbling with the buckle. Will clumsily ran his hand down the side of Hannibal’s face and cupped his jaw. He marveled at the feel of stubble there, he’d never seen Hannibal not absolutely impeccable. Seeing him with messy hair, rumpled clothes and a three day beard made him appear... human. Combined with the scotch and the Alabama heat, it was messing with Will’s head. 

Hannibal covered Will’s hand with his own and gently pulled it away. “Will. You are very intoxicated.” The seatbelt loosened across Will’s chest. Hannibal closed the door and walked around the front of the car to the passenger side. Will tracked him with bleary eyes. He took Hannibal’s hand when he offered it, letting himself be half hoisted from the car. The scotch bottle slid from his grasp and hit the pavement with a hollow sound. 

“Ah, dammit.” Will leaned down to retrieve it, a steadying hand on Hannibal’s chest. Hannibal growled with impatience and kicked it away under the car. “Oh, you asshole. Fine. I got more.” Gesturing to the paper bags in the floorboard, Will stood and swayed dangerously, falling against Hannibal. He grunted, struggling to stand upright. Giving up with a sigh, he rest his head on Hannibal’s shoulder. Their chests were flush against one another and he could feel the other’s heartbeat thump against his own. Each beat vibrated through him. Heat rushed over him that had nothing to do with the weather. 

“Please... just take me to bed.” 

His voice was so small, muffled into Hannibal’s neck. His heart raced. He’d meant to say that he was tired, that the alcohol was making him feel dumb and sleepy. That he would very much like to pass out on an actual bed and not with his knees smashed against a glove box. He’d wanted to mean that. But as they tumbled from his mouth, the words took on a different meaning all together.

Will felt Hannibal go very still. He fumbled with heavy hands until he felt Hannibal’s in his grasp. They were cold, icy even in the afternoon sun. He leaned back and brought them to his neck, covering the bruises there. He brushed his nose against Hannibal’s with a hum. They felt good on his alcohol flushed skin. Hannibal pulled his hands away quickly, as though Will’s skin burned. Clearing his throat as he stepped back, he glanced toward the nearby windows of the other motel rooms. Will followed his eyes. “Oh. Oh!” He giggled thickly as it dawned on him. “I s’pose I shouldn’t be throwing myself at you... you’re my wife’s brother, after all.” He emphasized the words as he poked Hannibal’s chest, his brow furrowed in mock seriousness. 

Hannibal looked thoroughly nonplussed. It was so hilariously unfamiliar it made Will burst with laughter. He leaned against his hands, one on each of Hannibal’s shoulders and laughed. “Come on,” he finally managed as he drew a deep breath and stood upright. He indicated the row of dingy motel doors with a nod of his head. “Which one’s ours?” 

“Number 10. On the end.” Hannibal’s voice sounded strange, like he was far away somewhere. “Abigail is already inside.” Will started toward the end of the rundown building, stumbling slightly. He made it halfway before he lost his balance. Strong hands caught his shoulders before he could pitch forward to the pavement. 

“Oh. Thanks.” 

Hannibal pulled Will’s left arm around his neck and wrapped his own, strong arm around Will’s lower back to support him the rest of the way to the room. 

Abigail had pulled the door open when Hannibal had kicked at it with his foot while he supported Will’s weight. She immediately stepped aside to let them in, her eyes wide with concern. She shut and bolted the door as Hannibal deposited Will unceremoniously onto the closest of the double beds. 

“Hi. I’m drunk.” Will grinned at Abigail and waved meekly with a few fingers from his right hand. “Oww- fuck!” He glared at his hand, still very much broken and wrapped tightly in an ace bandage. He’d grudgingly let Hannibal fuss over it before they left Maryland, complaining loudly and being an all around terrible patient. 

Hannibal sat heavily in one of the chairs at a very rickety looking card table and leaned his head against the wall. Will glowered at him from the bed. “Hey. My liquor is still in the car.” Hannibal remained still. Kicking his foot to get his point across Will huffed irritability. “You broke my hand. On your stupid face.”

“When you punched me.”

“Well, that was only ‘cause you were being an asshole. You are... absolutely terrible, did you know? A monster.” The effort of conversation made Will’s head throb. He flopped back on the bed with a grunt. He was miserable. The last few days were surreal. Had he really thrown absolutely everything away to ride off into the sunset with the Chesapeake Ripper? Will knew he could have walked away that night. He could have, should have just gone through with it, let Jack have him. But the thought of Hannibal caged up made his stomach turn. The idea of never being able to find out how well their mouths fit together... He knew he’d started this whole thing. But at the same time he felt swindled. Hannibal had been manipulative in more ways than one and it made him resentful. That he had let himself get so taken by someone as monstrous as Hannibal. He felt cheap. It was a bitter, greasy feeling and part of him hated Hannibal for it. The cheap liquor and the uncomfortable proximity to these feelings in the cramped car over the last few days made his words come out like poison. 

“We hate you. I hate you. My life is fucking over now.” His voice was a slurred growl, his throat was sore from scotch and from being strangled. The painful reminder made him even more angry. “I’m chained to you. Conjoined. I wish I had just walked away.”

The fact that Hannibal was remaining so quiet and still irked him. Turning his head to the side he watched the other man. He sat in the chair, head back, eyes closed. His body was relaxed. His hands rested in his lap, his knees spread. 

He had forgone his usual bespoke suits in favor of worn jeans and T-shirts. *To blend in* he’d said. Whatever the reason, they drove absolutely Will insane. Seeing Hannibal Lecter look so plain and road weary as he did right now, there in his white tee that hugged his biceps just so and faded Levi’s that were almost too snug to be anything other than obscene... Will squeezed his eyes shut and threw an arm across his face. What the hell was wrong with him? The alcohol was definitely going to his head. The whole situation was messing with him. Every thought was dominated by Hannibal. He supposed now his whole life was, too. 

“Please. Go away.” He’d said it aloud, a miserable groan. His companions remained silent. He had not meant to say it, he was just desperately willing his thoughts to turn to something other than how Hannibal’s clothing fit. The sound of the door slamming made his stomach pinch. Lifting his arm he glanced over to the chair. It was empty. The bed dipped slightly as Abigail sat down on the edge. She placed a careful hand on Will’s arm, offering him a sad smile. 

“He went to find us something to eat, I think. He’ll be back.” Her hand was cool, her words soft and soothing. Resentment blazed harsh in his belly. He turned away from Abigail, jerking away from her touch and lay on his side. He glared at the other bed, at the wall it was pushed up against, his vision blurring as he tried to focus on the garish wallpaper pattern. 

“I don’t care. Fuck him.” He angrily swiped at the tears that ran down his face with the heel of his good hand.

**Author's Note:**

> More to come! I’m not sure how often I’ll be able to post new chapters, but I’ll shoot for once a week. Let me know what you think!


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